


Unfinished Duet

by cosmicbluebells



Series: Violin Lessons and Other Assorted Shenanigans [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Classical Music, Fluff and Crack, Idiots in Love, M/M, high school orchestra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29422317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicbluebells/pseuds/cosmicbluebells
Summary: “Run that by me again,” Rintarou says, staring at Atsumu. He reaches into Osamu’s music bag and pulls out a Kitkat, unwrapping and biting into it without breaking eye contact.Atsumu squirms. “Omi’s comin’ to visit me next Monday.”Osamu pokes his head in. “They met on Music Stack Exchange and he’s only talked to him in real life once,” he comments. “Dunno who’s more of a fool, ‘Tsumu or that guy.”“Hisnameis Sakusa,” Atsumu corrects waspishly.Suna and Osamu finally meet the elusive Sakusa Kiyoomi.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu & Suna Rintarou, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Series: Violin Lessons and Other Assorted Shenanigans [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2161404
Comments: 2
Kudos: 104





	Unfinished Duet

**Author's Note:**

> based off one (1) line of my sunaosa orchestra fic,,, i think it can probably be read as stand-alone? i'd suggest reading the first fic in the series for context and whatnot. please do not come into this with any illusions about it being well-written or funny. i am fully aware i have a terrible sense of humour.
> 
> as always, unedited & not beta-read.

**_1\. allegro_ **

“Run that by me again,” Rintarou says, staring at Atsumu. He reaches into Osamu’s music bag and pulls out a Kitkat, unwrapping and biting into it without breaking eye contact. 

(He purposely ignores the lines in the chocolate bar, just to fuck with Atsumu).

Atsumu squirms. “Omi’s comin’ to visit me next Monday.”

Osamu pokes his head in. “They met on Music Stack Exchange and he’s only talked to him in real life once,” he comments. “Dunno who’s more of a fool, ‘Tsumu or that guy.”

"His _name_ is Sakusa,” Atsumu corrects waspishly. “And I’ve talked to him on video call plenty.”

Osamu rolls his eyes and leaves.

“Why are you telling me this?” Rintarou asks, monotone. “I don’t really give a fuck.”

“He’s gonna be checkin’ out our school when he comes,” Atsumu explains. “And I dunno where to bring him. He’s only here for three days, so I gotta make it count. And he showed me so many cool places in Tokyo.”

Rintarou flaps a hand lazily. “You’ve lived here fifteen years longer than me,” he points out.

“Yeah, but I’m kinda bad with touristy places,” Atsumu says. “Also, ya know ‘bout the cool music stuff ‘round here.”

Osamu comes back in and plants a kiss on Rintarou’s lips. When they pull apart, both of them are smiling. Atsumu makes a disgusted sound in the background.

“Fine,” Rintarou sighs.

“ _Yes_ , thank you Sunarin!” Atsumu crows.

“On one condition,” he amends, and Atsumu’s face falls into utter despair.

“…What is it?”

“You buy me lunch for the next—” he pauses to think— “two weeks. And every day you text me in the morning saying ‘I, Miya Atsumu, hereby confess that I do not know two shits about my hometown.’”

He sighs and widens his eyes. “Please, Sunarin…” he whines. “One week?”

Rintarou shakes his head. “Two.”

“One.”

“Two,” Osamu chips in helpfully, finishing off the Kitkat and tossing the wrapper on the floor carelessly. 

A tic jumps in Atsumu’s eye. “Deal,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Great. Tell me what your deal is with this guy. I want all the details,” Rintarou says, sitting forward. _This is going to be fun_.

Atsumu squints. “Yer just tryna weasel information outta me, aren’t ya?” he guesses. He’s absolutely right, but Rintarou shakes his head anyway.

“It’s important,” he insists. He doesn’t even know why he’s so persistent about this, besides the fact that he’s nosy and bored. “So I can figure out the best places. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Fine,” Atsumu relents. “I was askin’ around online fer the best type of drumsticks to buy—y’know, they can really change the quality of yer sound, ‘specially with different kits, and ya gotta make sure they’re super versatile 'cause ya always hafta play a wide range of—”

“Just get to the point,” Rintarou interrupts, cutting him off.

“Fine,” Atsumu huffs. “And then this guy answered my question. His username was ‘sakusa433,’ which is—”

“John Cage reference,” he and Osamu recite in unison.

Atsumu frowns. “Shut up and lemme tell ya what happened, will ya?” he says sharply.

“No,” they reply again.

“Too funny watching you try and fail to tell your story properly,” Rintarou supplies. “But keep going. I’m intrigued now.”

“So then he gave me a link to this page that sells percussion stuff of all kinds, and I ordered a pair of drumsticks—real cheap, which was kinda suspicious.”

Rintarou raises an eyebrow. “I can’t tell where this is going.”

“Which way d’ya _think_ it’s gonna go?” Osamu wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him closer. “Bad or worse?”

They look at each other and answer at the same time. “Worse.”

“Fucking listen to me!” Atsumu snaps, patience wearing thin.

Rintarou raises his hands, palms up. “We’re just joking around. Keep going.” He sounds entirely sarcastic, but Atsumu either doesn’t notice or elects to ignore it.

“The drumsticks came, and they’re _insane_ quality. Everyone told me they sounded great. Except ‘Samu, ‘course. He said it didn't matter how good the drumsticks were, they couldn’t make up fer my shitty playing,” Atsumu spits out.

“You said that?” Rintarou asks, raising an eyebrow. He’s impressed.

Osamu leans back. “Guilty as charged.”

They high five.

“Then the next time I needed percussion stuff—‘cause I accidentally broke one of the mallets fer the chimes—I went back and asked again. And he replied.”

“Can we speed this story up a little?” It’s Osamu, this time. He looks bored, Rintarou notices, and then he reveals the reason: “I’ve heard it almost twenty times.”

“Yeah, but _Suna_ hasn’t,” Atsumu counters.

“Fine. I’ll do it,” Osamu says. He shuffles on the couch to face Rintarou and uses his arms to illustrate as he tells him the story. “433 guy—who goes by ‘Omi,’ which is kinda suspicious if ya ask me—answered again. They got into a conversation in the comments section of Music Stack Exchange ‘bout triangles or some shit like that, then fer some reason ‘Tsumu gave him his LINE username? Seems like a big lapse in judgement to me, but clearly he doesn’t give a fuck ‘bout my advice.”

Rintarou shrugs. “Seems more like a regular Atsumu thing to me. Every decision he makes is a lapse in judgement.”

Osamu nods gravely. “Yer right.”

Atsumu cuts them off. “Can we _please_ get back to the topic or are y’all just gonna sit here makin’ fun of me all day?”

“Sit here making fun of you,” Rintarou says, but he shuts up after that.

Osamu keeps going amiably. “So then they talked on LINE fer awhile, and ‘Tsumu got this massive flamin’ crush on a guy he’s never seen in his life, just ‘cause he sounds smart and ‘Tsumu has a thing for dudes that play the flute. Also, somethin’ ‘bout jazz that I didn’t really listen to when he told me.”

“Wow, that sounds awful,” Rintarou remarks offhandedly. He's equally divided between disgust and fascination for Atsumu’s ‘flute’ thing and his ‘jazz’ thing. “Atsumu, I have never been more glad I don’t play flute in my life.”

Atsumu stands up. “This is bullying,” he asserts, pointing at the two of them on the couch. “I will not stand for it.”

“Yer standin’ right now, idiot.”

“Shut up.”

Osamu punches him lightly and continues. “Fast-forward a couple of months, ‘Tsumu offers to meet up with 433 guy—”

“Will ya _please_ stop callin’ him that?” Atsumu gripes.

“No. Then he buys a fuckin’ train ticket to Tokyo ‘cause he’s stupid like that, and they meet up at some cafe, and it turns out 433 guy is _really_ hot. Allegedly,” Osamu emphasizes. “I’ve never seen him.”

“I showed ya his Instagram photos.”

“Those can be edited, y’know,” Osamu retaliates. “I ain’t gonna believe ya til I see him with my own bare eyes.”

“Also, Atsumu has terrible taste,” Rintarou contributes.

“That too.”

Atsumu plops back down on the couch, arms crossed. “I hate both of ya.”

“The feeling is mutual,” they say together.

Osamu adds an ‘asshat’ for good measure.

“So?” Rintarou prompts. “What next?”

Atsumu drops his feet on the armrest. “Talked fer a long time—two or three hours, I think? Stayed in one of those capsule hotels that night ‘cause it was a pretty unplanned trip. Then we had breakfast, he showed me ‘round, and I caught the train home.”

“How…mundane,” Rintarou observes, poking absently at a lint ball clinging to the couch cushion.

“Whaddya suggest then, Sunarin?”

He taps his chin and pretends to think. “It’s simple. Just go up to the guy you have a crush on and ask for music lessons instead of asking him out because you’re too scared. Then proceed to attend said lessons twice a week, change your schedule to walk home with him, and wait for him to kiss you. Anything less than that is low effort.”

Osamu flushes a deep red. “That ain’t exactly how it went,” he replies defensively.

“It kind of was,” Rintarou notes. “At least on my end.”

“That’s shitty advice,” Atsumu says. He flops back down and splays his arms out dramatically.

“You asked for it.”

He rolls his eyes. “Please just be useful fer once.”

“Fine,” Rintarou says, yielding. “What’s his name?”

“Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

Rintarou taps it into his phone and saves it for later.

“Anyway,” Osamu says, clearly ready to move on from the topic. “I’ve finally got my concerto up to tempo, just wait till ya hear it, Rin.”

Atsumu sighs and gets up. “…This is my cue to leave, ain’t it.”

“Yeah,” Rintarou answers before Osamu opens his mouth. “Go away.”

A second later, Atsumu leaves, but not without delivering a final kick to Osamu’s knee and mumbling ‘disgusting’ under his breath.

Rintarou ignores him.

━━━━━━

That evening, the two of them are sitting on Osamu’s bed, eating packaged crackers. They’re getting crumbs all over the carpet, but neither of them particularly care, and Rintarou supposes Atsumu will end up cleaning the mess up eventually.

“Hey,” Osamu says, looking at him. “I know it’s mostly a joke, but ya sure yer fine with helpin’ ‘Tsumu? He’s kinda a handful.”

Rintarou lifts his shoulders and drops them again. His left shoulder is sore from practice; his posture has started to catch up to him in recent weeks, and it hasn’t been improving even though he tries his best to stop slouching. “Can’t be that bad, right?” he answers reasonably, popping another cracker into his mouth. “I’m interested in this guy now. Who knows what he’ll be like? Besides,” he adds, a teasing note creeping into his voice. “We have to make sure he’s good for Atsumu.”

Osamu nods slowly. “‘Course. We gotta do a background check.”

Gradually, Rintarou’s mouth stretches into a grin.

━━━━━━

from: miya atsumu

_i, miya atsumu, hereby confess that i do not know two shits about my hometown_

from: suna rintarou

_lmao_

from: miya atsumu

_sunarin guess what_

from: suna rintarou

_what_

from: miya atsumu

🖕🖕🖕

**_2\. andante_ **

from: miya osamu

_hey listen to this one_

from: suna rintarou

_what is it_

from: miya osamu

_i bet that flute isn’t the only thing you know how to blow_

from: miya osamu

_@miya atsumu use that on omi_

from: suna rintarou

_it’s terrible_

from: suna rintarou

_and perfect_

from: suna rintarou

 _@miya atsumu_ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

from: miya atsumu

_…oh my god_

from: miya atsumu

_fuck off_

━━━━━━

Step one on the ‘Sakusa Kiyoomi background check’ is offering to pick him up at the train station.

“Are ya sure?” Atsumu asks doubtfully, boring holes into the back of Rintarou’s head when he turns around. “I can skip practice after school. ‘Sides, I was plannin’ to miss it in the first place.”

Rintarou looks at him. “Yes,” he drones. “One hundred percent sure. Don’t skip out on your volleyball practice or else you’ll never make it to Nationals.”

Atsumu scrunches his nose up; it makes him look distinctly like a sloth, Rintarou notes with mild disinterest. “There’s gotta be a catch.”

“No catch,” he tells him. “Just trying to be hospitable friends. Right, Osamu?”

Osamu comes up behind him and catches him by the waist, angling his chin so it sits comfortably in the curve of Rintarou’s shoulder. “Absolutely,” he echoes. “We’ll get there and back lickety-split.”

Atsumu narrows his eyes. “Fine. Don’t pull any shit.”

━━━━━━

It probably doesn’t need to be said, but they do not get there and back lickety-split. 

They also pull a lot of shit. None of it is intentional in the slightest.

First, they’re derailed on their walk by a music store playing ‘Flight of the Bumblebee.’ Osamu has to hold Rintarou back from physically body-checking the radio and sending it sailing over the row of guitars when he hears it.

Then a flyer for a dating coach (Rintarou promptly takes a photo of it to send to Atsumu), then a particularly fluffy squirrel, which squeaks and skitters back down into the ravine.

“Rin,” Osamu says gently. “C’mon. We can find another squirrel.”

“That one was cute, though,” Rintarou replies, on his hands and knees in the grass, staring into the dark depths of the ravine. The squirrel might come back.

“It was,” Osamu admits. “But we’re almost late.”

He lets Osamu pull him back to his feet and they continue on at a steady clip, but not before Rintarou finds another squirrel, which ostensibly belongs to the same squirrel family, and takes a photo. 

“Souvenir,” he says in lieu of an explanation. Osamu just sighs and nods.

“Obviously.”

━━━━━━

Sakusa Kiyoomi is standing just outside the turnstile when they arrive (fifteen minutes late).

His fingers are flying away on his phone keyboard. A mask dangles from one ear and two bottles of brightly-coloured travel-sized sanitizer dangle on the zipper of his backpack. His hair falls over his forehead in a black mess of curls and tapers out to reveal two moles above his left eyebrow.

Objectively, he’s attractive, even if he isn’t Rintarou’s type.

He can’t tell if he’s surprised or not that this is the guy Atsumu has a ‘massive flaming crush’ on.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi?” Osamu asks when they approach.

Sakusa startles, but he rearranges his face back into a composed expression within a matter of seconds. “Yes. You’re Miya’s twin?”

Osamu bows. “Nice to meet ya. Ya can call me Osamu, even though I’m Miya too.”

“I didn’t expect you two to look so…similar. But different.”

“You can say Atsumu’s the uglier twin, it’s fine,” Rintarou interjects dryly. He has no idea how Sakusa will take it, but he figures he’d rather get acquainted with Sakusa’s tolerance to Atsumu jokes sooner than later. “We’re all thinking the same thing.”

The corner of Sakusa’s mouth twitches. “And you are?”

“Suna Rintarou,” he says, gesturing at himself. “Osamu’s boyfriend.” The words still feel foreign on his tongue, but every time he says them, he feels less awkward and more proud of it. Osamu squeezes his hand.

“Also resident gremlin,” his boyfriend _(boyfriend!!)_ adds.

“That too.”

“And my part-time violin teacher,” he says, turning to Rintarou and grinning.

Sakusa makes a pained face. “I hope that isn’t a euphemism for something.”

“Do you want it to be?” Rintarou asks, making a slightly suggestive face.

“ _Rin_ ,” Osamu hisses, jabbing him in the rib lightly. “Stop scaring him.”

Sakusa’s eyebrows raise so high Rintarou thinks they might disappear below his mop of curls. “It’s fine. I’m kind of—used to that. You remind me of my cousin,” he tells Rintarou flatly.

“Is that a compliment?”

“Do _you_ want it to be?”

A laugh bubbles out of his chest, surprising him. “Good play, Sakusa Kiyoomi. Welcome to Hyogo. I hope you have a great time here.” He sticks out a hand to shake. Sakusa doesn’t take it.

He retracts it awkwardly. He feels the sudden urge to brush the grass stains off his pants. “Sorry. Not the shaking type, huh?”

“Not really. Are you in orchestra with Miya?”

Rintarou nods. “That’s where I met this guy, actually.”

“I’m still here,” Osamu reminds him mildly. Rintarou holds up their joined hands. 

“I’m aware.”

“What instrument do you play?” Sakusa asks.

“Osamu’s first violin, I’m second.”

Sakusa nods. “Cool. I play viola.” He jerks his head towards the viola case sitting innocently on the ground. The quirk of his eyebrow is practically daring Rintarou to make a snarky joke about violas. 

So he closes his mouth, abashed at the fact that Sakusa can read him so well after only a few minutes, and refrains from cracking said joke. “Nice.”

“And flute too, but I’m not as good at it,” Sakusa continues.

Osamu chokes on his spit.

“Something wrong?” 

“Nope! Nothing wrong,” Rintarou answers quickly, arms flailing as he thumps Osamu on the back. “Should we get going?”

“Sounds good.”

━━━━━━

“So, Sakusa,” Rintarou says on their walk home. He’s holding Sakusa’s suitcase in one hand and his other is intertwined tightly with Osamu’s. “We’re your unofficial tour guides for this trip. You’re going back to Tokyo on Wednesday, right?”

After a nod of affirmation from Sakusa, he carries on. “Atsumu doesn’t know dogshit about museums and sightseeing places and stuff, so we’ll be here to assist you. Not too much, of course,” he says. He’s having way too much fun with this. “We’ll make sure you get to spend time with dear Atsumu.”

Osamu nods along. “He’s busy til seven this evening. Volleyball practice. Whaddya wanna do in the meantime?”

Sakusa shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter.”

So with that helpful guidance from their guest, he and Osamu drop Sakusa’s luggage off at the nearby hotel he’s staying in, drag him to a music store where they mess around on the keyboards and generally piss off the staff, a cafe for hot chocolate, and a museum that specializes in ancient Japanese weaponry. 

(“Research for history class,” Rintarou tells Osamu, which is code for ‘pointy things,’ and Osamu knows it.)

They finally end up at the gym doors of Inarizaki. The sound of yelling and balls slapping against the wood floor drifts out from an open window.

The school is never as peaceful as during evening practice, when everyone else has gone home and the school is almost deathly silent, save for the _clunk_ of vending machines and the shouts from the gym.

A fluorescent light flickers overhead. Rintarou soaks up the quiet. That is, until—

A group of sweaty high school boys in volleyball jerseys charge out, whooping.

“What the fuck,” Rintarou states, because he’s only come to pick Atsumu up from practice once before, and it wasn’t anything like _this_.

Osamu shakes his head. “Just give him a second, he’s always late.” He looks at Sakusa and explains, “They do this a lot.”

Sakusa nods, but the crease between his eyebrows doesn’t disappear. “Ah.”

“Hey, ‘Samu!” Atsumu calls, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Buy me a bottle of water.”

“Do it yerself,” Osamu shoots back. “Sakusa’s here.”

Atsumu’s eyes widen imperceptibly. “Omi,” he voices, walking closer. His eyes come to rest on Sakusa. 

“Miya,” Sakusa says, by way of a reply.

They scan each other up and down, scrutinizing, and Rintarou feels like an intruder. He can practically see the sparks jumping between them.

“Good to see ya again,” Atsumu tells him. “Ya look nice.”

Sakusa is wearing a pair of sweatpants.

“…Thank you?” 

“Hey,” Rintarou whispers out of the corner of his mouth, thoroughly uncomfortable with the atmosphere. “Wanna get out of here?”

Osamu nods. “Have fun, ya two!” he says loudly, wiggling his eyebrows. Rintarou wants to kiss the smirk off his face. “We’ll be goin’ now.”

They tumble out the front doors of Inarizaki and start on their walk home, laughing. When they split off at the intersection, Rintarou plants a kiss on the hollowed-out dimple in Osamu’s cheek. 

Osamu catches his shoulders and kisses him on the lips instead.

**_3\. scherzo_ **

“Hey,” Atsumu greets him, stumping into orchestra rehearsal.

Rintarou plops his sheet music on his stand and lifts an eyebrow. “What do you want?” He picks up his thermos of Monster and coffee and chugs half of it in one go.

“Jeez, Sunarin. No need to get snippy,” Atsumu replies, snippily.

“Fine,” he sighs. “What do you want.” It sounds just as blunt, but Atsumu ignores it and sits down in Michiko’s chair. 

“Well, Omi’s comin’ by to check out our rehearsal soon. Like, two-minutes-ago soon. He’s in the bathroom right now.”

“Gross,” he comments, wrinkling his nose. “Didn’t need to know that.”

“Shut up, Suna. Anyway, like I was sayin’ ‘fore ya so _rudely_ interrupted me, Omi’s here. Right now. And I dunno what to do?”

Rintarou stares at him. “Are you being serious right now.”

“One hundred percent,” Atsumu says earnestly. “So help me out, Sunarin. Please?”

He exhales deeply through his nose. “First. Ditch the jacket, you look like a train wreck. Second, find him a good spot to sit while he waits and buy him a snack or something. Third—this is the most important one, so you better listen—invite him to go eat dinner with you afterwards, at that ramen place nearby. I’ll send you the link to the website. If you do all of these and he still doesn’t fall in love with you, that’s your problem.”

Atsumu falls to his knees dramatically. “I can never repay ya fer this kindness, Sunarin. Please don’t make me try, either.”

Rintarou suppresses an eye-roll. “Get up and go talk to him. Rehearsal starts in ten.”

“Yessir.”

Two minutes later, Atsumu is back (sans jacket), pointing animatedly at the instruments while Sakusa listens, a carton of banana milk in one hand.

Rintarou squints. Is he— _smiling?_ At something Atsumu said? 

He brushes it off, but the smile on Sakusa’s face doesn’t leave, even when Atsumu directs him to the back of the auditorium so he can watch. No; it stays there, small and soft, and it’s starting to make Rintarou uneasy.

 _That is the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen in my life_ , he thinks, and then, _oh my god, they’ve both got it worse than I thought_.

The piece they’re playing has solos for the principal members of each section—viola first, then second violin, first violin, and cello. So Rintarou drags his eyes away from Sakusa’s face with some trepidation and starts running through his solo.

The conductor steps onto the podium and claps her hands.

Still, he doesn’t forget about it.

━━━━━━

He’s waiting for Osamu so they can walk home when he sees Atsumu go up to Sakusa and ask, “Hey, Omi, wanna grab dinner? There’s a good ramen place nearby.”

(Rintarou knows Atsumu had never even heard of said ramen place until he sent him a link to their website, let alone eaten there.)

Sakusa answers with a small ‘sure,’ and they’re off.

“‘Samu,” Rintarou says when Osamu approaches. “Wanna get ramen for dinner? I have a gift card.”

And Osamu, completely oblivious yet clearly aware that _something_ is up from the gigantic shit-eating grin on Rintarou’s face, agrees, eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

They walk out the doors only a short distance behind Atsumu and Sakusa. Rintarou grabs Osamu’s hand just because, and Osamu squeezes back.

━━━━━━

“Where are they?” Rintarou mutters, scanning the restaurant over his menu.

Osamu pokes him. “Are ya lookin’ fer Atsumu and Sakusa? ‘Cause they’re sittin’ over in the corner.” He indicates with a not-very-subtle pointed finger in the direction of a table across the restaurant, and there they are, a pink blush staining Sakusa’s cheeks as Atsumu rests a hand on his arm.

“Disgusting,” Rintarou says immediately. “Some of us are trying to eat here,” he adds, ignoring the fact that they haven’t even ordered yet.

Osamu raises an eyebrow and grunts, but he doesn’t say anything.

They order and eat their ramen in peace, only glancing over at the other table periodically. 

Osamu makes happy noises as he eats, involuntary hums from the back of his throat interspersed with slurps of noodles. He always takes a while to finish his food; savours every bite instead of downing it quickly like Rintarou.

Predictably, Rintarou empties his bowl first. He props his elbows up on the table. Osamu shows no signs of finishing soon, so he thinks his time would probably be best spent messing with Atsumu.

Is that against wingman-rules or something? Or is it just a mean thing to do in general? Rintarou doesn’t know, and he doesn’t particularly care either, because nothing will ever be funnier than Atsumu’s angry face and the empty threats that ensue afterwards.

from: suna rintarou

_hey_

from: suna rintarou

_look across the restaurant_

Atsumu’s phone buzzes and he swipes up to check his messages. Rintarou takes absolute delight in the horror that transforms his face. His cheeks flame red and he looks up to see Rintarou, wiggling his fingers in an imitation of a casual wave, and Osamu, noodles dangling out of his mouth.

Atsumu makes a knife-at-throat gesture and subtly flips them off under the table.

from: miya atsumu

_oh my fucking god_

from: miya atsumu

_why_

from: suna rintarou

_for funsies_

from: miya atsumu

_fuck you_

from: miya atsumu

_uninvited from my birthday party_

from: suna rintarou

_osamu can just invite me back dumbass_

from: miya atsumu

_…shit_

Sakusa looks incredibly confused. The restaurant quiets down for a second, and Rintarou hears him ask, “Who are you texting?”

Atsumu waves his hands. “No one! Well,” he continues. “People. But not—important ones.” He shoots Rintarou a dirty look.

Sakusa makes a doubtful face, mouth twisting up and eyes narrowing. Whatever he says next is swallowed up by the clamor in the restaurant, but he must change the topic, because Atsumu’s shoulders relax.

Rintarou looks away.

He has a nice ten minutes after that; Osamu eats his noodles in record time, then he lets Rintarou rant about his violin teacher, and they talk about their newest orchestra piece.

“It ain’t even _difficult_ , that’s the problem,” a frustrated Osamu tells him. “The bowings just mess with me at the start then I end up fuckin’ up the rest of it.”

Rintarou nods. He’s having the same problem. “Try different rhythm exercises, it might help.” He recalls Osamu never plays with the metronome of his own volition, so he adds, “And practice with the metronome. The subdivisions are impossible without it, especially the semiquavers.”

Osamu pouts. Rintarou resists the urge to kiss him, and reaches over to lightly squish his cheek instead.

“We can practice together.”

The pout disappears, but his lips are still pink and soft and Rintarou _still_ wants to kiss him. 

He thinks it might just be a perpetual thing.

━━━━━━

He and Osamu are getting up to leave, their stomachs pleasantly full and Rintarou’s jacket pockets stuffed with five (5) strawberry candies from the front desk of the restaurant, when Rintarou’s phone buzzes.

from: miya atsumu

_hey wait dont leave i gotta talk to u_

from: miya atsumu

_it’s an emergency_

He rolls his eyes.

from: suna rintarou

_we’re leaving_

from: suna rintarou

_…is it really an emergency_

from: miya atsumu

_akjsfdk YES_

from: miya atsumu

_meet me in the bathroom pls_

Osamu peeks over his shoulder. “That’s sorta shady,” he says.

from: miya atsumu

_and bring samu_

“Me?”

Rintarou blows out a puff of air. “We should probably help, shouldn’t we.”

Osamu nods. “Ask fer more details.”

He shrugs. “Nah, the surprise makes it interesting.”

The two of them stand up and head to the bathroom. Atsumu is sitting on the sink with his head in his hands, because of course he is.

“Explain,” they say in harmony. Atsumu picks his head up.

“I wanna ask out Omi,” he confesses, looking simultaneously timid and stupidly bold. “Like, now. But I—how should I do it? And what if he says no?”

Rintarou sits on the lid of the toilet and massages his temples. “I am not paid enough to deal with your headassery.”

“Yer not paid anythin',” Atsumu points out.

“That’s the point,” he snaps.

Osamu takes up the lead instead. “What he’s tryna say is Sakusa ain’t gonna reject ya, no matter how ya confess to him.”

“How d’ya know that?” His voice is small, and Rintarou stops in his tracks, because Atsumu is never shy. He’d rather hit his head against a bass drum than project anything other than self-assurance.

“Listen, Atsumu,” he replies sharply. “Just say what you feel, don’t insult him by accident, and he’s _not_ going to reject you. I promise. Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

Atsumu shakes his head.

Rintarou sighs. “You’re going to make me describe it.”

A nod. Even when he’s in a slump, Atsumu still goes to incredible lengths to make Rintarou look ridiculous, and he kind of hates it.

He looks around the bathroom as he tries to find the words. The dispenser is out of soap, and the paper towels are spilling out of the trash can. “Like he thought he dreamt you up at first, and he can’t believe you’re actually there, in front of him. Like you’re—how do I say this? Like he wants to…scold you and kiss you at the same time.”

Atsumu tilts his head. “I—really?” The question is filled with hope, anticipation. Longing.

“What, you think I’d lie about that? Besides,” he adds, “if he says no, he’s a jerk, and we’ll kidnap him. Or something. Anything that involves knives.”

“Aww, Rin,” Osamu remarks, laying a hand on the small of his back. “Why don’tcha say stuff like that to me?”

“Because you’re stable enough not to need validation,” he answers, but a smile tugs at his lips. “I’ll say stuff like that if you want me to.”

“The looks or the knives?”

“Both.”

As their exchange continues, Atsumu looks completely shell shocked. Rintarou supposes it was going to happen sooner or later.

“I’m gonna go tell him,” Atsumu declares.

Osamu whistles. “‘Course ya are.”

“But how?”

Rintarou drops back down on the toilet seat and buries his face in the sleeves of his sweater. “I give up on everything. I can't.” It comes out muffled.

“Yeah ya can,” Osamu responds soothingly. “Just takes a little work.” He directs his attention towards Atsumu. “‘Tsumu, just sit him down—not at the restaurant, probably, maybe when yer walkin’ home? And say, ‘I really like ya, wanna go out?’”

“Or you can just kiss him out of nowhere.”

Atsumu frowns. “No thanks.”

“Worked for me.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Anyway,” Osamu interrupts. “Ya gotta do it now, otherwise you’ll chicken out. Get off the sink and tell him.”

Rintarou nods and pulls out his phone. “Want me to film it for you?” He’s almost out of photo storage, but this is probably the best use of his remaining phone memory.

“ _No_ ,” Atsumu answers firmly. “Thanks. No thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” he replies, pocketing his phone.

Atsumu hops off the counter, washes his hands, and swings the door open. “Let’s do this.”

“ _You’re_ doing this,” Rintarou corrects him. “We’re just innocent bystanders.”

“Right.”

They share a three-way high five, and Atsumu steps out of the bathroom first—chest puffed, shoulders rolled back, significantly more confident.

Rintarou and Osamu follow him.

**_4\. finale_ ** ****

from: miya atsumu

_i, miya atsumu, hereby confess that i do not know two shits about my hometown_

from: miya atsumu

_also i have a boyfriend now_

from: suna rintarou

_so do i_

from: suna rintarou

_ur not special_

from: miya atsumu

_fuck off_

from: miya atsumu

_why don't u let me have nice things_

from: suna rintarou

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

_━━━━━━_

On Wednesday morning, Rintarou almost throws his phone at the wall in an attempt to turn off his alarm and rolls out of bed early—six-thirty—to see Sakusa off at the train station. 

He brings an extra large thermos of coffee, because he’s pretty sure he’ll be dead asleep within the next ten minutes without it, and pops in his earbuds.

He meets Osamu at the intersection. Even through his sleep-bleary gaze, he has to admit that the sunrise is pretty. A cloud passes through the blanket of bleeding orange, breaking the atmosphere into delicate, molten shards of sky.

(Still not worth getting up early).

“Mornin’,” Osamu says, yawning. “Are ya ready?”

Rintarou purses his lips. “He was fun for a few days. I kind of wish I’d gotten to know him better. Although I did threaten him with knives, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Atsumu told him, so that probably isn’t the best basis for a great friendship.”

Osamu nods. “‘Tsumu just didn’t want us to ruin it for him, I guess,” he responds. “Which makes sense. Mostly. ‘Cause ya woulda probably made more knife-related threats.”

Sakusa and Atsumu are already at the station when they arrive, sitting on a bench just outside the building. They’re holding hands; Atsumu’s thumb is rubbing gentle circles into Sakusa’s palm.

 _You’re not subtle_ , he thinks, and he says this much.

“Shut up, Sunarin,” Atsumu answers, blushing hard. “Yer not either.”

He points at Rintarou and Osamu’s matching bracelets with triumph.

“Oops,” Rintarou says, completely unperturbed. “Forgot about those.” He glances at the boarding screen. “I can’t believe we came here ten minutes early. I could have slept for—ten more minutes.”

“Ten minutes ‘fore _boarding_ ,” Atsumu says. “That don’t mean shit, Suna. Ya woulda gotten outta bed at the same time anyway.”

Rintarou hates that he’s right, so he just keeps his mouth shut.

"So, Sakusa," Osamu starts, breaking out into a grin as he sits down on the bench next to them. "D'ya wanna hear 'bout the time ‘Tsumu was on Neopets and he—"

Atsumu slaps a hand over Osamu's mouth. "Nope! Nope, Omi-omi ain't gotta hear about that."

Osamu licks his palm shamelessly, but Atsumu's hand doesn't budge—that is, until Sakusa shoots him a disgusted look. Then, Atsumu gives up and leaves to wash his hands, consternation plain on his face.

“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” Rintarou apologizes.

“Yer just as bad, Rin,” Osamu says fondly. 

“At least I don’t lick hands to try and get my way.”

Osamu shrugs. “Survival instincts.”

Sakusa’s face screws up even more. 

Rintarou thinks it’s probably time to stop talking about licking hands.

“So!” he says instead, clapping. “Did you like it here? You can say no, we won’t be offended. Well,” he goes on, “I won’t be offended. Atsumu definitely will be.”

Sakusa nods. The curl on his forehead bounces up and down. “It was fun. Really,” he adds when Rintarou opens his mouth. “You guys are great.”

“And Atsumu?” Rintarou prompts, because he just wants to see the world burn.

Sakusa’s face is pink. “And Atsumu,” he confesses. “I didn’t—I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I liked the trip.”

“Great to hear,” Osamu replies. “Come back anytime. ‘Tsumu’s a lot more bearable when yer here. ‘Cause he ain’t around as much.”

As if on cue, Atsumu is back. “I heard someone talkin’ ‘bout me,” he says. “What didja say?”

“How shitty of a brother ya are,” Osamu retorts. Rintarou sneaks him a covert high five.

Atsumu rolls his eyes. “Wish ya were goin’ to Tokyo instead of Omi.” He plops down next to Sakusa.

“Don’t we all,” Rintarou responds. Two minutes until boarding. “Sakusa, you should probably go soon. Need help with your luggage?”

Sakusa shakes his head. “I’ll be fine, but thanks for asking.”

Osamu elbows Rintarou. “We’ll leave first.”

They, predictably, do not leave. Instead, they round the corner while Sakusa and Atsumu walk towards the turnstiles so they’re still in their line of sight.

“They’re cute,” Rintarou says absently.

“We’re cuter,” Osamu counters, and wraps his arms around Rintarou like he’s trying to prove something.

“True.”

And then they’re both silent, too fixated on the fact that Sakusa and Atsumu are _kissing_. It’s just a light brush of their lips, simple and sweet, but they’re both red when they pull apart. 

Rintarou closes his eyes.

“I didn’t need to see that,” he says, eyes still shut. The image is branded into his eyelids. “I could have gone my entire life without seeing Atsumu kiss someone.”

“Ditto,” Osamu answers. “‘Sides, we should leave anyway. Properly now.”

Atsumu walks up to them. “I know y’all were spyin’ on us,” he accuses them. “What didja see?”

“Nothing interesting,” Rintarou replies. “But I think that was an issue on your part.”

Atsumu splutters an unintelligible insult and Rintarou laughs.

Even though the mood isn't exactly heavy, they walk back to school in silence. Somewhere along the way, Osamu fishes his phone out of his pocket and starts playing Chopin’s Funeral March.

“Felt right,” he says as an explanation.

Atsumu scowls. “Turn that off, will ya?”

“Nah,” Osamu says, and maybe Atsumu is just extra touchy now that his Music Stack Exchange boyfriend has left him for Tokyo, because he shoves Osamu onto the pavement and starts pummeling him.

“Oh my fucking god,” Rintarou states, even though he’s already pulling out his phone to record the moment for posterity. “This is why we can’t go out in public.”

**Author's Note:**

> kudos, comments, & bookmarks are all greatly appreciated <3


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